


Words On My Lips Like Embers

by AJRedfern



Series: An Empire That Forgets To Collapse. [2]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M, Medical procedures that might get a little gory, Rated M for some depictions of violence, depending on your tolerance for that kind of stuff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-03
Updated: 2016-10-19
Packaged: 2018-08-22 23:53:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8305948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AJRedfern/pseuds/AJRedfern
Summary: A companion piece to Weave Me A Myrtle Crown
*Eratos (aka Kels) once again played her lyre and because y'all are such amazing, passionate readers, here we are - certain scenes had to be cut from the body of the story for flow and word limits. Instead of flicking them off the page, we decided we'll put them here in case anyone was curious as to what happened at Oppen Bridge, etc. Word lengths vary and some of these might be barely edited sooo be forewarned.
Also, we heard the cry for a Bellamy pov in some scenes (if there's a particular scene you want to see from his eyes, let me know) and once it's written, here's where you'll find it :D*
xoxo





	1. Oppen Bridge

**Author's Note:**

> She'll admit that she and Bellamy move so much more easily around each other in the field ever since that day at Oppen Bridge - Chapter 1: Bathe Me in Your Fire
> 
> Bellamy: "Tell me, _tell me_ , when I've held back on you in the field since Oppen Bridge.' - Chapter 2 (Part 2): Oh, But My Darling (What if You Fly?)
> 
> If you were curious, this is what happened at Oppen Bridge.
> 
> *Set during Chapter 1 before Clarke and Monty respond to the callout for Kelsie and her mother.*

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She'll admit that she and Bellamy move so much more easily around each other in the field ever since that day at Oppen Bridge - Chapter 1: Bathe Me in Your Fire
> 
> Bellamy: "Tell me, _tell me_ , when I've held back on you in the field since Oppen Bridge.' - Chapter 2 (Part 2): Oh, But My Darling (What if You Fly?)
> 
> If you were curious, this is what happened at Oppen Bridge.
> 
> *Set during Chapter 1 before Clarke and Monty respond to the callout for Kelsie and her mother.*
> 
> This one's for everyone whose comment on WMAMC I haven't managed to get to. I know some of yall have commented twice and I love each and everyone one of you. I'm getting to them, I promise but I just wanted to say thank you, the thousand times, thank you to anyone who has read the WMAMC and has left kudos and comments.

_'You're nothing like l expected.' his whisper is hot in her ear as he slides deep into her. 'You're more. So much more.'_

_She grapples for a hold on his slick shoulders, wraps her legs around his hips and pulls his head down to hers._

_'More.' she repeats against his mouth, straining._

_His soft laugh caresses her cheek -_

'Main to Ambulance 6, come in.'

Clarke jerked out of the daydream and leaps for the radio, fumbling and dropping it. Out of the corner of her eye, Monty glances at her from the driver's seat, her face flames and she ignores the strange look he gives her. She yanks the radio up by the wire.

'Ambulance 6 to Main.' she says, cringing when her voice comes out breathless.

'Medical assist required at Oppen Bridge. Motor vehicle accident.'

She glances at Monty. He nods, flips on lights, and makes a hard right to avoid the traffic on the road up ahead. 

'We're on our way, Main.' Clarke says into the radio, 'ETA ten minutes.'

'Copy that, 6.'

She returns the radio to its place, relief tingling across her skin because Monty is too focused on driving now that he doesn't prod her.

She turns her head to look at the buildings blurring past her window and squeezes her eyes tight, willing her cheeks to cool down.

It's Clarke's second week at 82 and while she and Bellamy have resorted to cool professionalism in the field and avoiding each other back at the house, the dreams haven't stopped. 

In fact, they seemed to have gotten more frequent, more graphic and so real that Clarke sometimes can't even look at Bellamy's hands or mouth without pressing her lips together or crossing her legs agitatedly.

She needs to get laid.

Hard and fast and maybe more than once.

She shrugs off the guilt with more than a little effort – she’s not doing anything wrong if she wants to get back out there for a little fun. She and Finn are over and she and Bellamy are...nothing.

But then Monty is swerving into a side road, tarseal turning into gravel under the ambo tyres, warehouses down the lane ending at the river bank.

Squad and Truck are already on-site when she and Monty find the scene below the bridge, hopping out of the ambo and skidding down the bank.

Clarke takes in the scene as they run up and everything else fades away.

It basically looks like every other accident scene she had responded to - the overturned Pajero at the edge of the river, driver still inside, the smashed glass everywhere. There's a woman talking to the Chief - witness it seems, by what Clarke can hear of her words.

Kane turns as she and Monty come in. 

'Griffin, Green, two victims,' he points at the vehicle, roof already pried open by Raven and Jasper, 'driver in there and,' his arm moves to point at Bellamy and Monroe being fitted into wetsuits at the edge of the water, 'a passenger who was ejected into the river.'

Clarke lifts a hand. 'Got it, Chief.’

She and Monty prep, keeping an eye on the driver's extraction. She's setting up the stretcher when electricity shoots up her spine, runs down her arms and Clarke knows that Bellamy has his eyes on her - she doesn't know how she knows, she just does. 

She ignores it, pushes it aside and focuses.

By the time Harper and Miller extract the driver onto the gravel, she and Monty are ready. The driver is conscious but his speech is slurred and he seems disorientated and muddled.

'Concussion.' Monty says, strapping a C-collar around the driver's neck and motions Miller to help them slide him onto a stretcher.

‘Yeah.’ Clarke agrees quietly, strapping the victim’s legs securely in and coming around to take a proper look at him.

Shouts echo around the clearing and she looks over her shoulder to see that the passenger had been found and was being hauled up out of the water by Harper and Raven.

Bellamy’s emerging from the river behind them, water running off him in rivulets, turning the lean lines of his wetsuit dark and slick.

'She's not breathing!' Raven's voice comes clear at them.

'Keep going,' Monty says to Clarke, already standing as the firefighters carry the passenger towards them, 'I'll do the preliminary checks.'

'Got it.'

By the time she's done and Jasper and Miller have moved the victim into the ambo for transport, the other firefighters have settled the passenger - a woman - onto a stretcher. 

Clarke's eyes draw down on the blood-tinged water flowing from her mouth.

Monty is moving around the victim, but by the look on his face, Clarke already knows it isn't good. 

'There's too much trauma to her mouth, Clarke,' he calls out, brushing wet strands of hair away from the woman's face, 'we'll never be able to get a tube in.'

No incubation then.

Fine.

Thinking fast, she drops to her knees, ‘I’m calling this. We’re going to cric her.’ she unzips the med-bag and starts shoving through the supplies, looking for the dark green cover of a cricothyrotomy kit. 

Without it, they won't be able to perform the emergency airway puncture that the victim needed. Without it, they won't be able stablise her, won't be able get her breathing again and it'll become a race to the hospital, death following them on swift wings, gaining with every inch of road under their tires.

Above her, Monty calls her name softly in question - a warning - before falling silent again.

For that, for Kane's lack of admonishment, she’s grateful. Other paramedics, other Chiefs, would be quick to shut her down because they both know cric kits are not field approved and shit, the least she's going to get out of this is a tongue lashing from the higher ups at the Association. 

But is she supposed to let this go? They have no other choice and she’s making the call as the PIC.

Her first official call as the PIC of House 82 is to perform an unsanctioned field operation.

God.

Around them, the rest of the house has gathered, silent and watching, and the weight of Bellamy's eyes is a tangible thing on the back of her neck. 

She shoves aside vials, syringes and sealed tubing - where the hell is it?

Feeling time weighing heavy on her back, she lets out a frustrated sound. 'Monty, we don't have a cric kit.'

Her partner's head snaps up over the victim, the horror in his eyes matching what she felt in hers.

'Uh -' she closes her eyes briefly, mind whirling. An idea flashes through her mind - it's unconventional but _screw it_. 'Alright, hold on.' she grabs tubing and a pair of scissors and surges to her feet to join Monty.

A part of her tells her that maybe she should be freaking out a little bit. She's trying to pull off something she had never done, time was ticking and any mistake she makes would probably result in this woman's death. 

But better to give her some chance of survival than nothing at all.

Adrenaline is a harsh buzz in her blood but Clarke's hands are steady as she snips off the plastic tubing, rolling the metal tip between her fingers. She moves forward, leaning over the victim, concentrates and the rest of the world quiets as her focus narrows down.

She places fingers against the victim's throat, feeling her way. Once she finds what she's looking for, she presses the wickedly sharp metal tip down firmly into the woman's throat. The flesh parts with a faint pop that she feels in her fingers. Before she can ask, Monty is handing her the resuscitator to connect to the tube tip embedded in the victim's neck.

Then it's done and she steps back with a loud drawn out breath and Monty slides in beside her, fingers pumping the resuscitator, pushing air into the woman’s lungs.

They did it.

'We're good to go.' she breathes out to no one in particular.

'Reyes, Murphy, give them a hand.'

Bellamy's voice snaps Clarke out of herself and she glances over at him as she and Monty prep the woman for transport. 

He's standing off to the side, lower half still encased in diving gear, head turned to the side as he talks to his squad. Raven and Murphy break out of the line of watching firefighters and towards Clarke and Monty.

Clipping in the last strap, Clarke looks up as Monty instructs Raven and Murphy. She can see Bellamy behind the firefighters, this time talking to Kane, and despite herself, she focuses on him.

Bellamy's shoulders tighten and to her shock, his head snaps around to her.

Caught, Clarke freezes as their eyes meet. 

He seems as surprised to see her looking back at him but he recovers quickly and she could almost see his walls come back up. But then he breathes in, his chest expanding and a look passes over his face. 

Unless Clarke's very wrong, that's something akin to respect she's reading in his face. 

Wary, maybe a little begrudging, but that's respect.

He inclines his head in a nod - another first - before turning away again to speak to Kane.

Monty is laughing quietly under his breath as they push the woman to the ambo.

'What?'

Monty glances at her and shakes his head. 'You know you just broke about a hundred rules back there, right?.'

Feigning nonchalance, Clarke slides him a glance. 'What would you have done?'

When Monty's reply is a grin, large and bright, Clarke can't stop her own spreading across her face.

She clambers into the ambo after the victims. The woman is still out but she's receiving unfettered oxygen and the man is conscious, blinking at the ceiling. Monty turns on the sirens and she keeps monitoring the couple as they speed towards the hospital.

When the victims are safely handed off to the ER staff, Monty arches a brow at her and before she can talk herself out of it, Clarke loops an arm around his.

Monty’s grin widens, looking down at her hand on his forearm. It's the first time she's ever shown an overt attempt at friendliness to anyone other than Raven and they both know it. Shame heats her cheeks because Monty is an awesome guy and she should have actually tried to be more than just professional before this. But all Monty does is pats her fingers fondly as they saunter down the corridors of St. Vincent Hospital.

‘Thanks for not trying to talk me out of the cric.’ she murmurs.

‘Oh, I’ll give you back-talk on any given day so brace yourself.’ Monty returns, his smile turning a little sharp. He lifts a shoulder, ‘But not today. You made the right call.’

She squeezes his arm and they continue on into the sunlight.

It takes a mere day after filing their report for Clarke to get her ear chewed out by the Arkadian Paramedic Association.

She takes the call in Kane’s office and knows that entire house will hear the story by dinner. Somehow, it doesn’t rankle – Raven would probably high-five her or something.

When she finally hangs up, Kane’s face is solemn but he’s suspiciously bright-eyed for a Chief whose Paramedic in Chief just got an official verbal warning.

‘You understand that the decision you made to perform a field cric was dangerous and in violation of your Code?’ he asks in that quiet, still way of his.

Clarke does not drop her gaze or chin. ‘Yessir, I do.’

‘Good.’ he nods, taps a pen against the stack of papers in front of him, ‘Do you have anything to say in defence of your actions?’

She did the right thing, she doesn’t need to defend it.

‘No, sir.’ Clarke replies sharply and then cringes internally – god, when did her tongue get so sharp? She clears her throat, tries again but what comes out is, ‘I’d do it again.’

For a second, her heart stops.

She has worked her ass off for this position and if it gets taken away from her because she couldn’t hold her tongue for two shitty seconds, she –

‘Hmm.’ Kane studies her, leans back in his chair and nods at her, ‘That will be all, Griffin.’

She stands there staring at him in confused disbelief before snapping out of it.

She just got lucky.

Clarke turns swiftly, heads for the door, blood pounding in relief.

‘Clarke.’

At Kane’s call, she freezes, turns around again.

He’s bowed over his paperwork again, ‘I think you’ll fit in just fine here.’

She can’t stop the grin that spreads over her face when she walks into the common room – a grin that only brightens when she finds that someone – probably Jasper – had left a cupcake next to her phone on the table.

A cupcake with a little flag with the digits “82” on one side and on the other “PIC”.

No one says anything but proving herself right, Raven slips her hand out for a discreet high-five as she passes. Monty grins at her from over at the couches and Miller at the other end of the table catches her eye and winks at her above his paperback.

Then she’s following the tug of lightning on her skin and looks up and around.

Bellamy’s watching her as he leans against the sink in the kitchen, long, brown fingers wrapped around a coffee mug.

His eyes drift down to the cupcake on the table and back up to her face and his own is expressionless.

She lifts her chin.

She’s not giving up her cupcake even if it tasted like crap.

His brow lifts as if he had heard her thoughts, his lips pursing slightly as if in thought and his chest moves on an indrawn breath.

_You’re so much more than I expected._

The voice, husky and throaty, whispers the words into her ears, a caress against her skin and Clarke’s heart starts to gallop.

That’s not real, she tells herself, even as she holds Bellamy’s eyes, refusing to let her shock show.

That’s not real.

But then she forgets that voice because resignation, wry and maybe a little irritated, flashes across Bellamy’s face and the corner of that sensuous mouth tilts up briefly.

He lifts his mug in her direction – a simple, bare move of his hand that has her lips parting with the symbolism of his gesture – before pushing off to stride across to the other side of the room.

She stares at his back until he disappears from the common room.

Well, would you look at that.


	2. A Finn Incident

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'Hey, Clarke,' Monroe calls, 'some guy kept calling for you when you were out.'
> 
>   _What?_ is her first thought, followed swiftly by, _Please don't let it be Finn or Cage._
> 
>   - Chapter 2: Oh But My Darling (What If You Fly?) (Part 2)
> 
>  
> 
> _Speak of the Devil and he shall appear._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Takes place in Chapter 2: Oh But My Darling (What if You Fly?) (Part 2) after Clarke decides to make a stand with Bellamy in front of The Delinquents and before The Delinquents talk about their own personal struggles.

Clarke jerks awake.

Disorientated, she struggles to sit up, unsure where she was, unsure what woke her.

A loud insistent buzz cuts into the fog in her head and through stinging eyes, she sees her phone sliding against the wooden bedside table, it's screen lit with a received message. She looks around blearily.

She's in her bed at the firehouse. In the next cubicle, Raven's dark form is quiet and asleep in the shadows of the dim room. Down the row, Murphy's lamp is on and she can see the spikes of his hair above the partial wall, headphones on. Her eyes go unwillingly to the closed doors at the end of the room, opaque glass walls half hidden by the cubicles.

Miller's room is dark. 

There's a glow on Bellamy's walls.

Clarke doesn't need to wonder why Bellamy's still awake - the thought of Cage would keep anyone awake. 

The guilt lingers insidious in the back of her mind. She knows that it doesn't matter how many times she'd apologize, she'd still be feeling like this, like there was slime coating her arms and afraid at times to meet Bellamy's eyes. 

She thinks about the way Bellamy refused to back down in the face of her insistent stubbornness, refused to take the heat off himself even though he was jeopardizing himself. And she also thinks that the confused disbelief that would have been surging through her months ago is non-existent now. 

She would have never believed that the man who had jumped down from the firetruck in the aftermath of her first call, the man who had sneered at her and mockingly called her a 'princess' and told her to deal with her private life off the clock would _ever_ go to the ropes for her, swinging. 

Now though - now, it's easy to believe. It's easy to believe now that she's discovering the beauty of his soul, the sound of his heartbeat. It's just the kind of man he is. He might be irritable and fluent in sarcasm but god, the light in him. 

She avoids the wonder at what it would be like to be loved by soul like his and avoids the voice that sounds too much like his that tells her that she already knows the answer to that.

No, she doesn't. 

But maybe he's starting to think of her as part of 82?

No.

Don't push your luck , she tells herself, steeling herself against the hope that glows just a bit brighter, people always end up hurting you even if they don't want to. It doesn't matter how much they love you, how much you love them - and magic, delusional dreams matter even less - you will always end up hurt. 

So Clarke blows out a bracing breath, shoves those thoughts of her mind and instead leans forward to check her phone.

Her mood snaps into disbelief and she yanks her blankets back, shoving her feet into boots.

She’s fuming, slamming out of the house, the garage and into the late night, the cold air slapping into her.

That asshole.

She sees him parked on the street, leaning against his car casually, as if he had all the right in the world to be here, and a fresh wave of rage crashes over her.

That fucking _asshole_.

‘'I'm outside?'’ she recites his message on a hiss, brandishing her phone, ''Come out or I'll horn and wake your entire team up?' Have you lost your goddamn mind?'

He straightens, hands up placating. ‘I just want to talk –‘

‘And I want you gone, Finn.’ she slashes the air with a hand, ‘Now. Before someone else wakes up and comes looking for me. Because if that 'someone' is Raven and she sees _you_ ,’ she threatens, jabbing a finger at him viciously, 'I swear, I'm going to - God, Finn, how could you be so stupid!'

That throws him and he steps back, slipping his hands into his pockets, hunching his shoulders down. 

‘Raven?’ he asks the wet asphalt.

‘Yes, Raven.’ she snaps, ‘Remember her? The woman who gave you years of her life, also the woman you screwed over? Yeah, she still works here and - ’ she cuts off her rant, sucks in a deep breath and steps back, ‘Just go, Finn.’

‘Clarke – I love you.’

It’s the pleading in his tone that makes her stop, makes her turn around to look at him. He must have come straight from work because he’s still in a suit and a coat, with raindrops in his hair and tears welling in his eyes. 

And all she feels is a strange detached empathy for his tears and an urgency to get him to leave. 

‘I’m sorry.’ she whispers, ‘You need to leave.’ she tries to make him understand, ‘We. Are. Done. There is no going back for us. We're done.’

She’s barely turning around when he grabs her arm, spinning her back to face him.

‘No, you don’t understand,’ he pleads, ‘I love you, Clarke. They’re firing me and I think I'm going to get disbarred, Clarke – you’re the only thing I have left.’

‘Let me go, Fi –‘

His fingers dig so tightly into her skin that Clarke’s words are lost in a shocked inhale.

His eyes bore into hers and she freezes, a chill crawling up her arms at the look in them. There’s a strange burning light in them, the pupils reduced to pinpoints and he looks desperate and _wrong_. 

Clarke yanks back her arm and when he makes a grab at her again, plants a hand in his chest and shoves. 

Hard.

Her heartbeat rises and her throat goes dry when he staggers back and straightens again to his full height, his face pale, his skin seemingly pulled too tautly over his features, his mouth slack, his eyes terrifying blank.

She’s looking at a stranger wearing Finn's face.

He isn’t extraordinarily tall, but Finn is solidly built and it suddenly occurs to her how late it is and how deserted the street is. 

It’s not the prospect of taking him on that sends her head spinning – because she can and she will. But, how could she even feel this way about Finn? About a man that she once loved, once had in her bed, once welcomed into her heart and into her body?

‘Get in your car, Collins.'

Relief slams into her at the low, rough voice behind her, the warning growl in the tone loosening her tight chest. Clarke glances over her shoulder to see Bellamy, face shadowed, legs braced apart, arms folded across his chest. 

'This is a private conversation,' Finn snaps, ' that you don't need to be involved in.'

'Clarke?' Bellamy quietly calls.

It takes her time to get enough saliva in her mouth to reply. 'Yeah?'

'You want me gone?'

Hell no.

'No.' she replies and meets the other man's betrayed eyes steadily.

She can hear Bellamy shifting, the sound of his footsteps on the wet concrete as he comes closer.

'Sorry man, I'm involved.' Bellamy murmurs.

Finn disregards him and turns back to her. 'Clarke, let me just explain -'

'I don't want an explanation - I just want you to go.'

He makes a move for her arm again and she deflects him, pushing him back a step.

'Don't try that again.' Bellamy warns, voice rumbling.

He's suddenly sounding a lot closer than he did a minute ago and Clarke realises that he's standing right behind her. Unlike Finn, however, Bellamy's proximity is a comfort, a warmth at her back.

Not thinking about it, she moves towards that comfort, seeking that warmth mindlessly - steps back until her back hits a wall of solid strength and the scent of him envelopes her.The moment she hits him, fingers wrap around the curve of her shoulder, strong, sure and unyielding, and squeezes gently. 

Finn's eyes flick from her to Bellamy over her shoulder and something ugly and poisonous shift in them.

Clarke's stomach drops. This is going to turn uglier.

'Is that it?' he sneers, proving her fears correct, 'You're fucking him now? That didn't take long. Your kind isn't exactly fickle, ar -'

Her hand snaps out and the sound of it striking Finn's chest echoes like a shot in the night and he staggers back, sliding on the wet pavement.

'Get the hell off my sidewalk.' she whispers, fury and disbelief tightening her throat. 

Really? 

_Really? ___

She had to deal with this type of shit from virtual strangers and now, she's getting it from someone she once dated?

Fuck them all.

The grip on her shoulder becomes a thumb sweeping soothing circles across her flesh. 

But gentle as Bellamy's touch is, the fury radiating from him is a slow building eruption. 

'You heard her, Collins.' Bellamy's words are a rumble at her ear, the edges of his voice are starting to shred, 'Move. Now.' 

Finn turns slowly to her, wide eyes flicking to Bellamy and back to her, his cheeks red, face pale. He stumbles back, looking confused and shocked. 'I - Clarke - I'm sorry, I don't know why I said that. I - ' his gaze goes behind her as more footsteps sound.

'Man, just go.' Miller's voice calls out, 'Or Clarke will drop your ass and we won't do a thing to stop her.'

Finn lifts pleading eyes to her but Clarke is done.

'Get some help.' she advises him, 'I'm sorry but I'm not the one you should be turning to.'

She backs away slowly, Bellamy's hand warm on her, feeling him move back with her, guiding her steps, letting her concentrate on taking on Finn. She hasn't missed the fact that Bellamy had the uncanny fifth sense to let her direct how things went with Finn, that he hadn't tried to step in, hadn't gone in aggressive and snarling, getting into a pissing contest with Finn. She hadn't missed that he had made sure she knew she had him without trying to take the reins from her. She wonders if that sense was telling him now that she was as grateful for that as she was grateful for his presence. 

Finn pulls in a breath, seeming to pull himself together. Then he's turning away, getting into his car and Clarke slumps in relief. 

'You okay?' Bellamy asks softly.

She nods as they watch Finn pull from the curb and pass them.

'Thank you.' she whispers as the glow of Finn's rear-lights blurs into the night.

'No need.' Bellamy's fingers tighten on her shoulder and then let go, dropping away. 'I got your back.'

The words hammer into her skull, leaving her frozen and shaky. He had said those words to her once and had meant out in the field. He says them now, when he had stood witness to her personal mistakes, and she knows his words now mean his alliance in all aspects of her life.

Her feet feel like they've stepped in quicksand.

Pulling herself together, Clarke turns to see, not only Miller, but Harper, Monty and Murphy standing there, their expressions tight. It does something to an already tightening chest to see them standing there, to see them backing her up too. It feels warm and golden, sweet and thick, seeping into her veins. 

It feels like family.

Then her eyes go to Bellamy, his dark head is bowed, shoulders still tense, walking in front of her, the streetlights playing across the AFD logo on the back of his jacket.

He was the first one there, to watch her six and stand with her.

That warmth turns into a burn and she pushes it down viciously.

Monty offers her a grin when she reaches him, slings an arm around her neck. She steps into his side and presses her forehead to his shoulder in thanks. Like Clarke expected, he doesn't push her for details, just begins talking about a run to the nearest 24/7 deli.

She takes up the topic gratefully.

But Clarke can't stop looking at the man ahead of them, talking to Murphy, the line of his jaw thrown into relief. 

And she can't ignore that she can still feel his fingers on her shoulder.


End file.
